READER’S CORNER: The sudden horror that consumed normal life in a flash

I was born in Halifax on June 18, 1941. My father was Leo William Connors, born on May 19, 1907 (d. 1980) and my mother was Elsie Margaret Harris, born on June 4, 1908 (d. 2004).

As you can see, my father was 10 and my mother was nine when the Halifax Explosion occurred.

My mother told me that she was in Grade 4 at the Catholic school. They had just had morning prayers and finished singing God save the King, when two girls from the north end arrived late, saying that a ship was on fire in the harbour.

Immediately after, the school was shaken by a large explosion. The windows of the classroom blew in, and a girl behind my mother was struck by a hanging flower pot and badly cut.

The nun attempted to lead the class out by the fire escape, but it had collapsed, so they went downstairs. The large oak main doors had blown in, and although the nuns attempted to organize the students outside, everyone took off for home.

She remembered the eerie silence as she raced home. Once there, at 172 Creighton Street, she found her mother (Hannah Calloway Harris) and her grandmother (Jane McGowan Calloway) hiding in the basement. They wanted her to go upstairs to fetch blankets, but she was too scared.

Her older sister, Hilda (1902-1999) arrived home, followed by her father (Richard Vinecove Harris) who had been looking for his daughters. He worked as a machinist at the dockyards.

Richard had several brothers and cousins, so the front door and windows that were broken were quickly boarded up. My mother said that they spent the winter living in the large back kitchen.

Years later, when the old horse barn was torn down, a large piece of twisted metal was found embedded in the roof.

My father was late for school that day. He lived on Birmingham Street. His father had been wounded earlier in 1917 and was in hospital in Scotland. His mother had three children, aged 2, 6 and 10.

She was a very nervous person and when Dad returned to see what had happened at home, he found her kneeling and screaming on the street, clutching the youngest.

She later was placed in the provincial home in Dartmouth and died the following year. The children were placed in the Catholic orphanage.

My father, who always looked for ways to earn money for his mother, went to the Western Union office to see if any telegrams needed to be delivered. He was paid a penny for a delivery.

That day, he tried to enter the north end but was turned back by the military, who had the area blocked off. He did say that he saw a wagon with bodies being carted away.

My mother told me that about 10 days after the Explosion, she was out shopping with her mother when they ran into a woman whom her mother knew.

The lady was still looking for the body of her oldest son who had turned 16 that fateful day. He had a job at the sugar refinery. She had packed him a lunch and kissed him goodbye and never saw him again. She had visited all the morgues, but never found his body.